A little Lady Gaga

A little Lady Gaga…

I probably like most other people, thought for a long time that Lady Gaga was simply a moderately insane artist, gifted at music but lacking in worldy earthliness. However, whilst reading my precious monthly edition of Glamour, I came across a quote from her. It read:

‘Don’t let anyone dim your light because it is too bright. Tell them to get sunglasses’.

                In that one moment my estimation of the woman rocketed, she really knows what she is talking about.

Don’t be afraid of being who you are because you are afraid of being too different, too loud, too weird, too confident. You cannot be. If you spend your entire life trying to be like the people around you you’ll never ever be satisfied. In order to be like everyone else you will have to change yourself because you are not everyone else. As a result, you wont be who you really are and so your friends might not be the people the relationships with whom will be the most fulfilling for you, the clothes you wear may not be the ones which are specifically suited to you, you as a unique individual will not be seen.

I don’t mean dance up the high street in a meat dress, unless you have run out of cotton or fancy a snack. I mean be you. If you don’t like the hoody everyone else is wearing don’t wear it. If you are can’t stand the popular milk chocolate but would rather a bar of the 90% stuff, you eat the 90% stuff. Do you want people to know you as you or one of many?

You were born an original, don’t die a copy. Don’t be afraid to be who you are, because that is the person everyone else wants to know. After all, ‘they’ are ‘everyone else’, so that position is already been taken. The position as you, however, is still available, and only you can fill it.

 with love and warmth, Anna Katharina

Lost in the clouds

Yesterday my boyfriend and I decided to go and climb Moel Famau in North Wales. Being I, the daughter of a professor in geography, and he a student of geology, one would have thought a hill such as Moel  famau, with a car park at the bottom and sign posted routes up and down, shouldn’t present too much of a challenge. I ask you to think again.

We achieved the climb within no time at all, but were not rewarded with a view due to the dense cloud cover which had become thicker. There was something magical about standing at the top, surrounded by cloud with nothing to be seen except one another, the monument and cloud. The magic for me came in knowing how much there was around us, how much beauty, and how much extent to the horizon; and yet we were enveloped in such thick cloud nothing was to be seen. There was a silence as well. Not a complete silence, for we could hear the cloud and the mist whistling around the peak; yet nothing else was to be heard. We knew not north, nor south. We could not tell the direction we had come from, nor the direction down. But we knew the path was there.

Walking into the cloud, we laughed as we heard voices around us; other walkers also exploring through the mist. As we walked, a style would appear in front of us, then a sign post, then a turn in the path. At a turning point where there were two paths we realised we had no idea which way we should be going. We did not know where to go, we could not see where we were in relation to where we should be and the GPS on my phone told us that it ‘could not find location’. We were lost. Laughing, we picked a path and set off.  As we walked, the cloud wrapped around us; sometimes allowing us to see a couple of metres in front, sometimes barely a foot and yet without fail, signs would appear, styles would emerge, the path would widen. By the time we eventually found the car again several hours later, the cloud had lifted, we could see around us, we could see where we had come from, and where we were driving to.  

During the 6 years I was ill, there were times when I could not see. When I was so emotionally stuck and in so much pain I did not know what to do. I didn’t know where to go, I didn’t know how to get to where I wanted to be. I couldn’t see where I wanted to be, I could visualise it in my head, but I couldn’t see it. I couldn’t see how to get all the way there. But what I could see every time, was a very small thing which could make a little bit of difference. A piece of dairy milk to taste, 5 minutes to cut off the obsessive morning power walk, one more traumatic memory to relive and work through. And with every small step I took, the next step would suddenly become visible when it hadn’t before. And then the next, and then the next. Until finally, I am living the dream I had but could not see.

Life is sometimes black. Sometimes we feel lost, we cannot see the way forward, only the way we have come. And every time it is so tempting to take that route we have just travelled because it is the only one we know and the only one we can see. We are scared of the way forward because we do not know it and we cannot see it. But turning round will never get you to where you want to go. Always take that step forwards, because even if it is not visible now, the way will emerge. The cloud will lift, and life will become light again.

Never give up, never turn around. Even if you feel like you are blind and the world is black. I didn’t know what the future held, I didn’t know how to recover. But I didn’t want more starvation. I didn’t want more black. So one step every day brought me slowly out of the clouds. And I did reach what I was aiming for.

However thick the cloud, you’ll always find the way because you know the way is there. And if you keep the people you love close, anything is possible. 

Tarting up to see Toby

Tarting up…for who?

In the Marks and Spencer’s toilets yesterday I passed some elderly woman in front of the mirrors. One was applying some lipstick and brushing her hair, the other watching her, exclaimed ‘tarting up are you?’

‘Tarting up?! I’m not tarting up!!’ she exclaimed.

‘Yes you are’, the others joined in, ‘tarting up to see Toby!!’

Women never change. As soon as they can talk little girls beg to be dressed as fairies in beautiful dresses, before even reaching their teens girls are experimenting with a whole rainbow of lip-glosses and eye shadows, teens test how high they can wear their skirt, and women of all ages are forgoing a waitrose meal to buy the latest Clinique and Chanel. And men are forever left waiting outside toilets for the women to finish brushing their hair. Men of all ages. Women of all ages.

In our world where the media is one moment promoting beauty through beauty products, fashions and health tips, and the next minute criticising public advertising for having a negative effect on girls and causing a rise in anorexia, I ironically find myself questioning this.

Rather than blame the media for giving a negative, unrealistic view of female beauty, how about instead we accept that that is their job and ask ourselves, why is it we want to make ourselves beautiful? If you look into any eating disorder case, very few will root from a pure desire to look like the girl on the front cover of cosmo. Yes I wanted to be slim and therefore look like the girls in the magazines, but why did I want to be thin? Because my brother had died. Because I was being severely bullied. Because I felt ugly. I blamed myself, I felt like I was disgusting. I was interpreting the messages around me to mean that I was horrible.

And I, like every other girl, just wanted to be beautiful. Every girl, woman, and elderly woman wants to feel like she is beautiful, to feel it themselves, and to show the world that they are. It is an instinct we are born with. The science explains that we are born with the inbuilt duty to have children, and to do that we must attract men, and therefore we must be beautiful. But it is so, so much more than this. If a girl is not happy, if she is hurt, afraid or upset, she may feel empty. If she is feeling unloved or destroyed, she will blame her ugliness. And it is then that she will look around her for answers. The media are telling her that thin is beautiful, and so she diets.

But the real answer, the solution that will fill the void rather than cover it over, is to find the beauty from the inside. To realise that the pain you are feeling is not because you are ugly, it is because you are hurt or afraid. Every girl is beautiful. And if she feels it from the inside it will shine from the outside.  And if you are truly feeling beautiful you will be. Go and show the world. Dress yourself up, wear jewellery, and make-up; so long as it is because it is you giving yourself the care and worship you truly deserve.

If you are proud of a child or a friend, or if you simply love them, a woman responds with presents and care. So maybe the media is right. Treat yourself, because you’re worth it.

Tart up to see Toby.

Live as you would want your children to live

Imagine, for just one day, that you are your child. What would you do? What would you think? Where would you go?

Suddenly, does your imagination run wild? Do you imagine yourself doing everything? Do you feel a sense of freedom you have never felt before?

'Live as you would want your children to live' is not as daft as it may first sound. Our children are part of us, and we as human beings believe that they will have the same likes, loves, and dreams as us. We want them to have opportunities we never took up or had, we want them to have experiences we would love to have had. But why do we look to our (future) children to have and do what we wish we had done?

Because we do not put on to them our judgements and concerns. We do not live ourselves as we would want our children to live because we are afraid. Afraid of what people think, afraid of what people may say, afraid of the consequences. But deep down, we know that these fears are as empty as air, and that is why we are happy for our children to do it; because we take a backward step, an outer persepective, and we see that our own fears are meaningless.

Therefore, ditch the fears, ditch the self judgement, ditch the self hate: and take a leap. Do what deep down you want to do. Your children are not going to want to live how you want to live because they are not you. You are you. So its up to you to live it for you. No one else is going to do it for you. Only you.

My father is a geographer and I have no sense of direction. This is my point.

With love and warmth, Anna-Katharina xxx

London... and me.

London... Capital city, home of the Royals, fashion and media capital... no I don't live there, but yes I have an Oyster Card.

Public opinion would suggest that a girl of 19 years old, relatively worldly and familiar with London, would merge quite happily into the busy landscape that is England's capital... think again. Last week I was booked onto a 'How to get into Publishing' even at the Marie Claire HQs. Due to various holiday cancellations and rearrangements (too long, complicated and boring to justify an explanation) I ended up travelling to London with all the stuff I would need for not only the few days in London, but also everything for a family holiday to Kenya, the stuff at my uni home in Cardiff, plus the luggage I take around with me on a daily basis (Mary Poppins -esq). What resulted was I, waiting for the mega bus (scrimp on travel, splash out on designer clothing), accompanied by a wardrobe sized suitcase, 3 handbags, carrier bag for food and rubbish, jumpers and jackets for any weather changes between the two capitals, spare pair of shoes in hand luggage in case of emergencies, and dog (Alfie - fluffy dog rescued at a 'free to a good home, animal in need of love' sale).
Taking me in in one glance, the Indian bus driver asked, 'You have...err... your life with you?'.
'Yes' I replied, 'I'm Anna'. I shook his hand and smiled warmly. 'And this...', I said, gesturing to my enterage.. 'is my life'.
'I load', he replied. And so, in this style, Anna and bags made it to London.

I will skim over the parts of my trip that could be justified to have 'been ordinary', and I shall instead recall the parts which could only have happened to an inept and asking for trouble human being such as myself. In order to get to the publishing event, I had to take the tube from Sloane Square. As it was only supposed to take 20 mins, I decided to walk there from my aunt's flat. However, after about quarter of an hour it decided to deluge and so I opted for the bus. Within 30 seconds of this decision I had already managed to piss off most of the nearby population; tipping with rain, busy queue for the bus, oyster card rejected. While frantically rummaging in the Mary Poppin's bag for some change to pacify the annoyed (annoyed is an understatement but will do for the moment) bus driver, the queue was building up behind me.
'Where is it you want to go?', hissed the driver,
'Sloane Square', I smiled in sweet innocence. Disbelief crossed his face, he looked like he was torn between knowing whether to laugh or cry. 'Do you know where Sloane Square is?' he asked?
'I have no idea I'm afraid', I replied. Again, sweet innocence.
'Get on', came my answer. He dropped me off all of 30 seconds later... right outside the tube station . ahhh point taken.

The next two hours passed relatively uneventful, the publishing event was superb, and I made it back to the tube station in one piece. It was then when I received a phone call from my aunt, telling me to get off at Bond Street and take a cab to Home House, 20 Portman Square. I looked around me. Finding a cab on a pedestrianized street I could see was going to present some challenges, however unperturbed I set off confidently. After about 20 minutes I found a cab, and rejoicing at my discovery, gave him the address.
'Do you know where Portman Square is?', he asked me. Why was it drivers of public vehicles kept asking me this question. Um noo, but that is irrelevant. You're the one taking me, you're the one who needs to know where we're going mate. I'm merely the messenger, you're the deliverer. I took  a calming breath, bracing myself for whatever humiliation was to follow.
'No, I'm afraid I don't', came my well used reply.
'Ha, its easier to walk love. Its a 2 minute walk, just turn left at selfridges and you're there'. I might add that this conversation was taking place in the taxi stand on the road.... just by Selfridges main entrance.

Part 2 of my trip to London to follow... please keep posted.It is far from over, but better received in small doses.

Hen Parties

Waitressing at a hen party last night, I heard the bride to be confess that she was 'terrified'. In a quiet voice to her gathered friends and female members of her family, she admitted 'I'm dreading that moment when I walk in, when everyone looks at me'. This woman was beautiful, she was glowing with being in love and the excitement her future had in store for her, and she was surrounded by a big table of close family and friends.

Some of us are terrified of being in the limelight; we are scared of being judged and embarrassed, and so we hide away and merge into the shadows. But who is it we actually going to be judged by? Yes it is true that if one makes a bad entrance into a room, people may question you, and if you are rude they may decide to dislike you. But you and I know you were not planning to be rude when you enter that room, nor are you planning to bully everyone in there; you were merely planning to walk in and join in. So therefore, the judgement we so often fear is judgement from ourselves.

And we can take this away.

Why should we judge ourselves critically? A small piece of constructive criticism is arguably useful; that top is too slutty to wear it out so change, for example. But not this constant 'they don't want to look at you', 'why would they want to talk to you', 'they think you are ridiculous'. Time to ditch this. Instead, remind yourself that everyone else in that room is probably far more occupied judging themselves and worrying what you may be thinking of them! So compliment yourself before and as you walk in, believe you have a right to be there, believe people want to talk to you... and they will.

If the bride has the right to walk in to the church on her own wedding day, you have the right to be present, wherever you are.

Who am I?

Who am I? A question we often all ask ourselves. What am I doing? Where am I going? Before we can answer  any of these questions we need to be able to recognise ourselves. By that, I don't mean we need to look back over family photos and be able to point out to our grandchildren which one we are, but rather, I mean we need to know how to listen to our own voice. How many of us can walk into a room and want the world to turn and look? How many of us can answer a question about our own personal preference without inquiring the advice and opinions of those around us?

During my years with anorexia, I was stripped of everything. Not just my physical weight and curves, but my thoughts, my opinions, my decisions, my mind, even my memories. I had to be taught everything. I had to learn everything: how to eat, how to feel, how to think, how to run, how to sail, how to play, how to work. Most importantly, I had to learn how to listen to my own heart. How to truly feel, how to feel ok in my own skin... how to feel ok being me.

I write every day. It is my way of living with myself and of finding the true person I am. Sometimes I write in pain, sometimes I write with hilarity; but always, if I am looking for answers and looking for the way, my writing will give those answers. Writing, for me, is a way of holding up a mirror and seeing myself, someone I have neglected to the point that they became a stranger. I have chosen to blog because I want to encourage you to turn around and see yourself too; to stop looking for yourself and your answers in others, and instead to live life as you. As you, for you and in you.

With warmth and love, AnnaKatharina